


Letters to Alicia

by WolfRune20855



Series: The Basics of Broom Magic [11]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Tortall - Tamora Pierce
Genre: Attempted Sexual Assault, Betaed, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Gen, Inspired by The Rigel Black Chronicles, it's october
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-08
Updated: 2021-03-08
Packaged: 2021-03-14 03:02:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,796
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29910462
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WolfRune20855/pseuds/WolfRune20855
Summary: Alicia reads through her mail.
Relationships: Alicia Spinnet/Original Character(s)
Series: The Basics of Broom Magic [11]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2179386
Comments: 3
Kudos: 20





	Letters to Alicia

**Author's Note:**

> WARNING!
> 
> There is a scene of attempted sexual assault in this fic. You can skip over it and still be up-to-date on all of Katie/Marcus's relationship. 
> 
> If you wish to skip over just the scene, stop reading after "She couldn’t believe her ears," skip the next three paragraphs and start again at "Alicia had never really thought..." There will be a brief summary at the end.

_Dear Alicia,_

_Thank you so, so, so, so, so, so, so, so, so much for taking a look at the designs that Katie sent you. I cannot begin to express how absolutely, totally, completely, wonderfully thankful I am to you for doing that. Seriously, you are the best person in the entire world. I am thrilled to design dress robes for you and Angelina. I have included some rough sketches for you to look over in this letter._

_Given your bronze complexion, I think that it would be best to go with shades of gold and garnet-red accents. Usually, I would’ve gone with red, but, given your hair color, I think that gold is a better choice. That isn’t to say that we can’t go with red if you don’t want to. They’re your robes. I’m just the designer._

_The designs I’ve included for Angelina are all varying shades of cobalt-blue. She listed blue as one of her favorite colors in the letter that you sent, and I think it would look fantastic on her. I’ve also included a sample of the taffeta that I’d like to use. If you could please get her to approve it, that would be absolutely wonderful._

_I have a friend, Nellie Opal, who designs jewelry if you want custom jewelry to go along with your robes. She has some particular ideas about what could go well with the third design that I sent you. Let me know if you’d want to get in contact with her. You don’t have to. It’s just a suggestion. If you hate it, please forget I even mentioned it._

_Thank you so, so, so much for letting me do this. I will not let you down._

_Best regards,_

_Leanne Lock_

Rain pounded against the windows of the Gryffindor Tower. Outside, it was dark and gloomy, hardly the type of day anyone wanted a Saturday to be. Alicia sat on top of her duvet, reading through the mail she’d received at breakfast that morning. Normally, she would have read it in the Great Hall, but she’d recognized the handwriting on the third letter. She didn’t want Fred and George asking questions, and she knew that they would, regardless of how well she hid the letter. They always asked questions.

Angelina sat on the bed directly to Alicia’s left, her Potions homework spread out in piles around her. It was due first thing Monday morning, and Angelina had barely started on it. Snape was going to be irritated, Alicia thought. Not that Snape being irritated was anything new. It seemed to be his default setting. 

“Ange,” Alicia pulled her friend’s attention away from the essay she was sloppily writing, “Leanne sent some designs and a sample of the cloth she’s thinking of using.” Alicia handed Angelina the designs Leanne had sketched for her along with the sample of taffeta. 

Angelina let out a low whistle as she eyed the robes. “You said she was good, but these are exceptional.” She rubbed the taffeta between her dark fingers. “I don’t know which one to choose.” 

“I don’t either.” Alicia glanced over the golden designs Leanne had put together for her. They looked fancy enough to be wedding robes. If she weren’t buying them from an unrecognized designer, Alicia knew there was no way she would’ve been able to afford them. The Spinnets may not have been the Weasleys, but Potage’s Cauldron Shop was barely scraping by these days. They didn’t have any generational wealth to fall back on if it went under. The Spinnets may have been purebloods, but they weren’t _rich_ purebloods.

It was one of the reasons they couldn’t stand Franklin Bell. Enoch and Rhiannon Spinnet liked Helena Bell plenty. She symbolized everything they loved: a pureblood from an old family who had turned her back on the Dark. Her husband, on the other hand, was a different story. He came from muggles, but he was one of the best broom makers in the British Isles. He came from a different world, yet he’d carved out a spot for himself. Even worse, he’d made money doing so. To Alicia’s parents, he had committed the most grievous sin possible. Muggleborns were to be pitied, offered scraps of handouts—not to rise above their pureblood betters.

If they discovered Alicia was thinking of backing Leanne, they’d do everything in their power to stop it, regardless of how talented the halfblood was. Her parents were the worst kind of blood prejudiced. A certain amount of prejudice was expected from Dark wizards. They’d made a name for themselves with those beliefs. It was the prejudiced Light wizards that you had to look out for. It was a Light wizard who’d attacked Alicia in June. They were just as dangerous as their Dark-aligned brethren. Hatefulness came in all shapes and sizes, even the aged beauty of Enoch and Rhiannon Spinnet. 

Thinking of her parents, Alicia set aside Leanne’s designs and opened the second letter that she’d received that morning, addressed in her mother’s loopy cursive to her _Darling Alicia_.

_Dearest Alicia,_

_Happy birthday, darling. I hope that this letter finds you well and in good health. We are looking forward to seeing you once more during Yule break, though we understand your desire to first attend the Yule Ball being hosted at Hogwarts. Your father and I agree with this decision and think that you should use this time to meet other talented young witches and wizards. Your father has some business connections from Norway whose children he’d like you to meet. See if you find any of them agreeable. It would be helpful to have an actual cauldron crafter in the family._

_I know that you are not particularly political, but rest assured that your father and I are doing everything within our power to stand against this new marriage law. The idea of it is simply preposterous. We may not have any power in the Wizengamot, but we are trying to sway the public’s opinion. Enoch even designed a rather clever pamphlet about the dangers of blood-mixing that he’s handing out at the store. I have included a copy for you to see. He’s very proud of it._

Alicia stopped reading her mother’s letter to take a look at the pamphlet she’d sent along. Her father was decent at graphic design, but the contents proved to be dreadful. Casting a quick _incindio_ , Alicia took pleasure in watching it burn. 

“What’s that about?” Angelina asked. 

“My parents are being stupid again,” Alicia answered. Angelina’s parents thought along similar lines to Alicia’s but they were slightly more moderate. They were the type of wizards who thought that politics should never be talked about. Alicia’s parents were far more political. “Dad made a pamphlet listing all the reasons the SOW law is bad for blood-purity that he’s handing out at the store. And he wonders why we’re losing business.”

“He may be against it for the wrong reasons, but the SOW law is bad,” Angelina said. “We should be able to marry who we want.”

“You mean you should be able to marry George Weasley.” Alicia was ready for the pillow Angelina threw at her head, catching it how she would a quaffle. “Be honest: if it weren’t for George you wouldn’t care about the law in the slightest.”

“Oh, and you would?” Angelina stuck her tongue out at Alicia before resuming her Potion essay. 

If Alicia were being honest with Angelina—not that she ever would be on this subject—she’d probably vote for the law. There was no way her parents would accept Gilbert otherwise. He already had a strike against him for being a halfblood, but he was a _Bell_. Even worse, he was _Dark_. If they discovered that fact, Alicia would be banned from walking on the same side of the street as him. 

No one knew about Gilbert’s alignment except for Alicia—not even his siblings. Elliot was clearly Light, where Katie seemed to be a true Neutral, despite protests that such alignments didn’t exist. Gilbert was Dark through and through, as Alicia had discovered in June when he’d rushed to her rescue like a hero in one of those romantic novels Angelina pretended not to read. 

Alexander Fenwryn was a family friend from a much more rich and powerful Light family than Alicia’s. She’d known him since she was a child, although she’d never been of particular interest to him given that he was twenty-three years older than her. So long as she was a gangly, awkward child, he would tolerate her. But then, three years ago, everything had changed. Alicia had become pretty. 

Although, perhaps pretty wasn’t the right word. Pretty wasn’t the word Fenwryn had used. _Exotic_ had been his word of choice, as if she were one of the stuffed animal heads hanging on his wall. _Exotic_. She hated that word. It said that somehow she, with her bronze skin and her mahogany hair, didn’t belong. She’d gotten the best features from both her parents. Alicia knew that she was beautiful. Men like Fenwryn never let her forget. _Beautiful. Exotic. If I had you_ … 

Alicia shuddered at the thought of the things Fenwryn had talked about around her. Since she was fourteen. _Fourteen_. It had started out with stares that remained on Alicia’s breasts and hips far too long, before turning into inappropriate touches at parties, demanding hugs that clearly made Alicia uncomfortable. The comments had started the New Year’s Party after her sixteenth birthday. Those had pushed Alicia to her breaking point. She’d told her parents. 

‘Fenwryn’s a decent sort,’ her father had insisted. ‘I’m sure you’re reading too much into it.’ Her mother’s answer had been worse. She’d requested Alicia encourage his behavior. She’d been raised to be a proper pureblood witch, yet her mother—the woman who had raised her—had asked Alicia to give into Fenwryn’s demands. She couldn’t believe her ears. 

She hadn’t done what either of her parents requested, finding excuses to miss out on her parents’ friends’ parties and crawling into hiding places whenever he stopped by the shop. She hadn’t been able to hide from him forever, though. He’d tracked her down in the end, cornered her as she was closing down her father’s shop, stealing her wand and dragging her into the back alley. 

The things he’d said to her—the promises he’d made—still haunted Alicia’s nightmares. _‘You’re sixteen, now,’_ he’d said. _‘A woman.’_ She hadn’t felt like a woman. She’d felt helpless—alone without her wand with no one there to save her. Something in her had snapped. The lioness had reared her head. Alicia fought back. She’d kicked and screamed and Gilbert had heard her. 

Gilbert had rushed into the alley, his wand at the ready. He’d incapacitated Fenwryn with a single curse. He had helped Alicia recover her wand, taking her to his flat when she refused to go home. 

Alicia had never really thought of Gilbert before that night. He’d been Katie’s older brother—handsome, sure, but definitely off-limits. Crush material, but nothing more. He’d tried to convince her to go to the aurors, but Alicia had refused. Her parents would try to make her marry the man, she thought, even if she was sixteen and he was thirty-nine. She was a witch. She should have been able to protect herself against another opponent. Gilbert had respected her decisions, even if he was clearly against it. He let her sleep over, crashing on the couch while she slept in his bed. 

Later, when she finally returned to her parents’ house, she was glad that she hadn’t gone to the authorities for a different reason. Gilbert’s curse had fused Fenwryn’s organs together. The St. Mungo’s healers hadn’t been able to fix him. Fenwryn had died a slow and painful death while Alicia slept in Gilbert’s bed. She hadn’t felt pity for the man, nor had she been shocked to discover that Gilbert was Darkly inclined, even though he hid it. 

After that night, they’d become friends. 

Alicia didn’t know if she was in love with Gilbert Bell; she didn’t think she was—not _yet_ , anyway. What she did know was that he was the only man she’d ever met who understood her. Last summer, she’d spent more nights at his flat (sleeping on the couch, insisting he take the bed) than she had at her parents’ house. 

They’d bonded over their love for quidditch and flying. Gilbert had listened to her rants about how unjust the world was, not contradicting her or telling her she was wrong. He encouraged her love for music, going as far as to convince his neighbor (a lovely elderly woman by the name of Sheila who adored both Gilbert and Alicia) to let Alicia use her grand piano. She’d never played on a grand piano before last summer, learning on the small, perpetually out-of-tune spinet in the attic of Potage’s. 

Alicia had become a fixture in Gilbert’s flat. He’d never asked her for anything other than help chopping vegetables. He’d never called her _exotic_. He’d never touched her inappropriately. She’d asked him about it one night. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d received male attention that wasn’t sexually motivated. He’d looked horrified when she’d told him that. 

‘You’re my friend,’ he’d said, ‘and you’re pretty—of course you are, a blind man could see that—but you’re so much more than that. You’re smart, and you’re funny, and when you play the piano, it’s like all the magic in the room stops, centering around your fingers on the keys.’ Alicia had started crying when he’d said that, which had freaked out Gilbert a little. He hadn’t been expecting her to cry. 

Alicia didn’t know if she was in love with Gilbert Bell, but she did know that he was the only person in the world who understood her. He was the only wizard she could imagine spending the rest of her life with. 

Picking up Gilbert’s letter, Alicia traced over his slanted words on the front: _Miss A. Spinnet._ It looked almost as official as her Hogwarts letter. Alicia carefully slid her letter opener through the top and opened the letter. The paper whispered as she unfolded it. 

_Ali,_

_Happy 17th birthday!_

_Big year, seventeen. You’re officially of-age in the magical world. You can vote (not that there’s much for humble, everyday folks such as ourselves to vote for). If you were a muggle, you’d be able to drive a car now. Not that you know what one of those is. Remind me to show you the next time you come around._

_Did you listen to our first game over the wireless? If you didn’t, the Falcons barely managed to squeak out a win against the Appleby Arrows. They were middle of the league last year, so hopefully, this is an indicator of more wins to come. I don’t want to jinx anything, but I have a pretty good feeling about this team. As long as we don’t lose any points to penalties, we’ll be fine._

_I hope school’s going good for you. I’m sorry to hear about quidditch being cancelled. This Triwizard Tournament doesn’t sound half as fun to watch (we both know the most fun with quidditch is playing it though). Don’t let that daft Potion’s professor of yours get you down too much. If you need any help, I remember being fairly decent at it. Got an O in my NEWT so I must’ve been doing something right. The only O I got, mind you. Never was very good at school._

_I know you said not to send anything, but I couldn’t not. Technically, I didn’t buy anything, just photocopied (that’s a muggle thing) some sheet music at a London library. It didn’t cost me anything except for a membership, so you can’t get mad at me. It’s_ Nocturne Op. 9 _from Chopin (he’s a famous muggle composer). Personally, I think it’s a beautiful song. I hope you like it._

_Don’t be shy about writing. Your letters light up my day._

_I’ll see you when I see you._

_Gilbert_

Placing Gilbert’s letter aside, Alicia’s fingers traced over the notes on the page. _Nocturne Op. 9_. She’d never heard of it before, but as she read over the music, she began to imagine the song in her mind. The notes melted into one another, starting slowly, occasionally trickling together. It was the song of a peaceful afternoon spent curled up beside the fire. It was the song of cutting vegetables at the kitchen counter. It was the song of lazy mornings in Gilbert’s cramped flat, a fresh cup of coffee cradled in her hands.

Gilbert was right. 

It was a beautiful song. 

**Author's Note:**

> Brief Summary of the Skipped Scene: A friend of Alicia's parents tries to sexually assault her and is stopped by Gilbert.
> 
> Special thanks to the incredible FeatheryMinx for beta reading.


End file.
